


Male Reader X The Female Walrider

by CampGreen



Category: Outlast (Video Games)
Genre: F/M, Horror, Literature, fan fiction
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-19
Updated: 2018-02-19
Packaged: 2019-03-21 12:29:48
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 4
Words: 3,559
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13740897
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CampGreen/pseuds/CampGreen
Summary: The Walrider is from Outlast, by Red Barrels.





	1. Lamb to the Slaughter

Light from outside is shone through the bars of your jail cell, casting four skinny pole-like shadows onto you as you mope upon the floor in the fetal position, in nothing but dirty inmate coveralls. There's a hollow, hateful burn in your throat. You know full well what's about to happen to you, unlike most of your fellow poor bastards "rehabilitated" at Mount Massive Asylum. Ignorance is bliss, you suppose. A burly woman in a security guard uniform knocks on the bars with her baton to get your attention.

_"Show time."_

You give her a miserable scowl before rising to your feet as she drags your cage open. Following an elevator ride, she escorts you through Mount Massive's Underground Lab, a complex of sickeningly bright and icy clinical corridors and tunnels buried deep beneath the mental institute, essentially acting as its basement. The facility is so bleak and institutional that it literally hurts your eyes to look at. It's a wonder how so many people manage to work here. This is borderline white torture. As you pass them, you glance at the several operation theaters through their windows. People dressed just like you, strapped to electric chairs and experimented upon by teams of sadistic scientists.

 _"You people are sick,"_ you spit to your convoy. _"How do you sleep at night, doing this for a living?"_

 _"In a big comfy bed with my husband, bought with a Murkoff paycheck,"_ she responds so matter-of-factly. 

It's obvious she's asked herself that question many times before, and that's the conclusion she's ultimately settled on. Fair enough. In the middle of your brisk, bitter conversation, everything shuts off. Not just the lights, but the electricity, leaving behind only a few emergency lights to glow through the black. You try to make a run for it but the guard catches you by the back of your collar and reels you into her grasp, pressing her pistol up against your temple.

_"You slippery son of a bitch, you're not going anywhere!"_

All of a sudden a darkness sweeps over the two of you. Not actual darkness, something...abstract, something metaphysical. 

_"Oh God, no..."_ the guard freezes up in fear. 

Something catches her by the foot and yanks her across the floor. You don't see anything thanks to the bad lighting, but its speed and strength is far beyond human. She lets out one last scream that you'll never forget as she's dragged into and swallowed by the darkness, leaving behind only ten trails of blood, one for each finger she tried digging into the glossy white floor.

_**"NOOOOOOOOOO!"** _

You have a panic attack thanks to the surrounding ambiance. Gunfire, alarms, screaming. One moment, you were getting escorted to your horrid death in the name of "science", the next you're alone and trapped in some type of hellish riot. You curl back up into the fetal position and press yourself up against the wall, next to a parked medical cart as chaos erupts from all around you. All sorts of people rush past. Scientists running from patients, patients running from guards, and guards running from...something. You cover your head and completely retreat into your happy place. You're not sure how long you stay. Could've been minutes, could've been hours. But sooner or later you garner the courage to look up and smell the ashes. Fresh corpses now litter the Lab. Some simply beaten, shot, or strangled to death, others absolutely torn to ribbons by something that's certainly not of this world. 

Again, thanks to the dark, you don't get an HD closeup, but you still see more than enough. There's also other living people resting in the hallway with you. Now that the staff's been deservedly eaten up, all that remains are a few docile patients aimlessly wandering around, minds forever lost by the horrors they've seen under Murkoff's care. You get a closer look at them and realize they're not exactly patients. Not anymore, at least. They're Variants. A derogatory term from the staff, patients experimented on and devolved into nothing. Just husks of their former selves, some so broken they can't do anything but saunter, others so twisted they can't do anything but kill and rape. You cautiously explore the maze-like network of tunnels that form the digestive tract of Mount Massive, stepping over many bloodied bodies and staying as far from the Variants as possible. 

A few of them lash out, but only to spook you and keep you at bay, like dogs barking at bystanders. You enter one of the operating rooms, where an experiment once took place before a power outage wrecked it. All that's left is a bunch of dead TV screens, an empty electric chair, and a camcorder set up for documentation. You pluck it off its tripod and switch it to night-vision, finally giving you a fully lit view of the carnage. You really don't want one, but you also don't want to fumble around the shadows for hours like an idiot. You continue your exploration of the riot's outskirts, now with some proper albeit green lighting, and come across a security office with a view to an airlock. Pressed against the glass is a scientist, trapped in the cramp decontamination chamber as lime fumigation gas spews from the pipes above. 

_"Hey, you!"_ his muffled voice pleads from the other side of the window. _"Shut off the gas, please!"_

_"Why the hell should I help you? A few minutes ago, you would've tortured me half to death with a smile on your face."_

_"Look, I'm a scientist! I have some of the highest clearance here, I could help you get out!"_

_"Tell me what the hell's going on and I might free you."_

The lab-coated man sighs. _"You really don't want to know, man. I'm sure you can tell by now but, Mount Massive is no fucking health clinic, that's just a front. It's really the delivery room for...the Walrider."_


	2. The Swarm

_"The Walrider?"_

_"Murkoff's baby. The apple doesn't fall too far from the tree. The thing's just as sick and monstrous as them. It's the closest thing we have to a God, a swarm of nanites that can do essentially anything, fueled by the imagination and dreams of others. I think they were intending to sell it off to the US Army as a super-soldier for billions or something, but the dog's off its leash and now it's no God, it's a Devil."_

You can tell by the regret and the jadedness in his voice that he's being real with you. He's not desperately pandering so you'll save him, he's shamefully confessing to you like you're his priest. You throw the repentant man a bone by pressing the biggest, reddest button on the control console, which unfastens the airlock's doors and saves him from slowly suffocating on the malfunctioning pipe system.

 _"Thank y-"_

A herd of Variants rush the decontamination gate and jump the doctor, beating him to a stain on the ground right before your eyes. By trying to be merciful, you just killed that man. You keep telling yourself he probably deserved it but you can still feel your stomach churning, ready to be emptied. You run away from the window as it's painted with the scientist's blood, but before you can leave the office, a three-man SWAT-looking team storms the room. You've heard about these guys. Murk Tactical. Murkoff's private army. They all train their machine guns on you to freeze you in place, forming not only a half circle but also your soon-to-be firing squad. 

_"We have a docile Variant,"_ one of the soldiers speak into a radio. _"How should we precede?"_ He gets some garble in response. _"Shoot to kill, huh?"_

 _"I'm not a Variant!"_ you think fast before you're gunned down. _"I'm a...guard. A Variant knocked me out and stripped me naked. All I could find was this jumpsuit!"_

 _"Oh, yeah?"_ another guard barks. _"What's your badge number?"_

_"Uh, 1247?'_

_"Mount Massive guards don't have badge numbers. Nice try though."_

Welp, worth a shot. All three of them cock their firearms as they raise them high, as high as your forehead. You instinctively brace for a few dozen bullets to pepper your upper-body when something enters the room. Something invisible. A force of nature. You can feel it. You're not crazy, the soldiers feel it too, which interrupts them from your execution like a Deus ex machina. It sweeps through the room at lightning speed. The mercenaries start wildly firing in all directions, so you hit the deck in fear of catching a stray bullet. An operative's arm is torn out of its socket, so he starts screaming and gushing from the stump, soon to die of bloodloss. 

Another is tackled to the floor and messily mauled in half at the belly with a couple swipes. The third tries to bolt but is seized by the ankle and dragged right back into the bloodbath, getting his shin ripped away like a discarded band-aid and his head stomped into a watermelon-esque mess. An entire squad of elite mercenaries. Probably in their 30's to 40's, several years or even decades of experience, fighting in wars, seeing hell several times over. All outfitted with some of the best weaponry a riot team would have. All effortlessly torn to pieces in seconds. And you're all that's left.

May God have mercy on your soul.

You raise your camcorder to your eyes, still in night-vision mode. Then and only then can you finally see the beast. It's a bulky yet mostly featureless woman, like a naked mannequin spray-painted black. No eyes, no hair, no mouth, no ears, no nipples. Just bones, contours, and muscle, and rock hard, chiseled muscle at that. Even if this thing wasn't infused with godlike powers, it still has the build to slaughter a whole room of people. In a pose reminiscent of Psycho Mantis, she floats a foot or two from the ground, so she towers over you even further. In an aggressive swoop, she lashes out at you next. You frantically crawl backs whilst begging for mercy and blindly kicking your feet. The Walrider seizes both of your soles as you try pitifully flinging them into her face (or lack of therefore), lacing her meaty fingers through your toes. With you in her grasp by the feet, she soars upwards like a majestic eagle and dangles you so far up in the air that your toenails graze the ceiling. 

You lower your camcorder and see nothing, so it looks like you're the supernatural freakshow that can fly, not her. Your face dangles right in front of the Walrider's crotch, so with her legs she gives your head a bear hug so tight it almost pops it like a grape. With her thighs squishing your skull, you're strung upside down in the air like wet laundry and forced to eat her out, desperately sucking on her vaginal lips in an attempt to loosen the potentially fatal armlock her tree-trunk-esque femurs have around your neck. Your eyes fall all the way down and look at the floor. Oh God, just your fucking luck you have a crippling fear of heights yet lose your virginity like this...


	3. Go Fuck Yourself

Soon, like someone pouring a bucket of water down a slide, a quart's worth of clear sap comes pouring out of the Walrider's pussy, completely shampooing your hair and splattering onto the floor below. The Walrider lets go of your feet so you plummet to the hard ground, and she too turns gravity back on for a sec so she comes crashing down onto you, landing on her knees with your face in between them. She takes two big handfuls of your hair and again smothers you with her vagina, forcing you to eat her out a second time. Another superhuman squirt is dunked onto your head, and this time it literally starts drowning you. Your body goes into flight or flight mode and starts desperately flailing around for some air. Frustrated by your squirmy resistance, the Walrider snaps and seizes you by the collar, flinging you across the room like a ragdoll and straight through the airlock's window.

Dazed and scratched up, you lay in a pool of jagged glass and blood (the scientist's, not yours), but soon realize this might be your only break from the Walrider's grasp, your only chance at escape. You claw up to your feet and are chased through the cylindrical tunnels of the Underground Lab with the Walrider in hot pursuit, though it's not as if there's any visual proof. You corner yourself in a small lab, slamming the door shut behind you. Through the camera, you see as the Walrider peels herself through the door, each of her nanites simply moving past the molecules in the metal to phase through it as though it's not even there. She tackles you to the ground and your face is buried into the floor by the fall, sticking your ass up in the air. The Walrider evaporates into a gaseous form and slips up under your waistband, leaping into your buttcrack like a toke of weed trying to retreat into your lungs. With a weird tickle that could never be described, you're infused with and possessed by the demon. You can feel her trillions of nanites latching onto your blood cells and taking control of your body. All you have left is your mind, your consciousness, trapped in a husk of meat with a nervous system piloted by a science experiment gone wrong. She violently undresses you below the waist and starts fiercely jerking your dick, quickly giving it carpet burn. 

Since the Walrider has become apart of you, she knows your weak-spots. She knows exactly which veins to focus on, how fast she should go, and which techniques work the best. A handjob scientifically tailored for you and you alone. Well, it looks like masturbation but it's really a handjob. Needless to say, it doesn't take long until the Walrider empties you out onto the floor, submerging your soles in a puddle of cum on the floor. She then pops a couple of your fingers up your ass and starts fucking your prostate as you're bent over a lab bench. She uses your other hand to mercilessly twist and pinch your nipples, amplifying the nirvana like a megaphone. Your feet, ankles tied together by your pants, dangle above the floor as you're puppeted into fucking yourself. The Walrider then rips your hand out of your ass and uses it to plug up your mouth, forcing you to suckle on your own milky alkaline fluid as it drips from your fingers. The twisting of your nipples finishes you off and unleashes the second cumshot in a row, no smaller than the last. As your tired, battered body slips off the metal bench and crumbles to the floor, the many loud gasps and squeals of paradise you were making seconds ago draw in another Murk Tactical team in their cleanup of the riot.  

 _"Found another one,"_ a soldier assembles his two squadmates as they pass the lab.

 _"Christ, has he spent the whole damn riot jacking off? I admire his priorities,"_ another one of them cracks as he gawks at all the cum painting the floor and walls. 

You raise your palm in protest and clamber to your feet as you pull your pants back up to your waist and beg for mercy. They're not having it. They all unleash about half a magazine's worth of gunfire upon you, ripping to you shreds. Your remains slump to the floor in a puddle of blood. Then the holes glue themselves back up. Like time's reversing itself, your carcass splattered across the floor evolves back into you, in one piece and standing, in seconds. The mercenaries jump back in confusion, before they realize:

_"Oh my God, **HE'S THE HOST!"**_


	4. Dog Bites Back

They desperately resume unloading their assault rifles into you but each and every bullet harmlessly bounces off as if your skin is made of kevlar. The Walrider, sheparding you like a puppet master, casually strides forward, effortlessly tanking through the barrage before seizing a machine gun by the barrel and breaking it in half over your knee. She then snatches its former wielder by the face and gouges his eyes out with your thumbs, promptly flinging his corpse at his two partners just as she did to you earlier. With them on the ground, she stomps down on one of their knee caps, turning it to red paste so he can't run. 

Then she shut up his cries for mercy by busting his brains open with a single punch. She plunges your fists into the final one's stomach and tears his entrails out onto the floor. You look at your hands, soaked in blood, then look at your reflection in the door's window, also drenched with red. You go into a thousand yard stare upon realizing what you've just done. You try to vomit but the Walrider won't let you, freezing your stomach as if she just pressed pause on the remote. She drives your traumatized self outside, back into the tunnels, towards more gunfire. It's coming from a female scientist, using a pistol she likely looted from a guard to blast a patient's skull open. He wasn't even a Variant...

 _"Filthy animal,"_ she spits before noticing you.

She turns her attacks to you, but the Walrider uses her superhuman reflexes to dodge every shot and keep your body spotless as she stomps down on the accelerator and has you wildly sprint forward. She smacks the gun out of the scientist's hand and seizes her by the throat, before forcing her onto her knees and redirecting some blood down to your shaft to immediately balloon it up into an erection that's exposed when she pulls your pants down. Is this bitch trying to hook you up? The scientist gives the thing a nervous glance as it bounces up and down before gulping, snapping off her surgeon's mask, and nervously easing into a blowjob for fear of her life. She gently smooches the crown of your head, and carefully nibbles at the sides of your shaft. 

Annoyed by her sluggishness, the Walrider helps her out and speed things up by cramming your drumming penis into her mouth and getting some leverage by grasping two handfuls of her hair. Like a parent letting their kid go as they learn to ride a bike, the Walrider's influence dissipates as you and you alone start plunging your pelvis back and forth, spanking your scrotum against her chin like a wrecking ball with each balls-deep thrust. The doctor blindly buries all ten of her fingernails into your bubble butt as she blows you, and after an amazing deepthroat, sucks out a whole mouthful of cum from your testes. She swallows the massive load you've unleashed upon her belly, and after you pull out to let the girl breathe, your cock is sparkling with cleanliness as it palpitates, not a spec of semen to be seen. 

_"Alright,"_ the doctor coughs after wiping her lip dry. _"You hap-"_

The Walrider takes the reigns again and wrings the woman's neck until a sickening _CRUNCH!_ shrieks out from her throat so her limp head dangles from her shoulders. Well, that killed the mood. Why is the Walrider making you do these things? Why is she so horny yet so violent? Then it hits you. The scientist that provided the exposition dump earlier, in the airlock. He said how she's "fueled by imagination and dreams of others". Your subconscious mind, as her host, is what's influencing her. For example, your hatred for the abusive staff manifesting as what just happened. The Walrider is personifying your id, the part of your mind where your aggressive and sexual instincts are kept chained up. As the Walrider's slave, you spend the next few hours beating your cumshot record four times over by fucking the brains out of then promptly killing every still living Murkoff staff member you come across. 9 scientists got bent over backwards and their anuses ravaged, 13 guards got pinned against the wall and their pussies permanently loosened, and 10 of both got their stomachs filled to the lip with cum. 

All made the Walrider's bitch just like you, all made a manhandled corpse. By the time you're upstairs in the Admin Block, there's not a cell of sperm left in your balls. You should've died from exhaustion hours ago, but that wouldn't have been fun for the Walrider, so she ever so slightly tweaked your body to reject any ailments like that. She steers you past the receptionist desk and your eyes go wide as you uncontrollably approach the wide open entrance doors. You've just been through hell on Earth, but at least you'll finally escape from the shithole you've been locked up in for days that is Mount Massive Asylum for the Criminally Insane. With a scientifically engineered demon clinging onto your body like a yandere, you're swallowed by the storm encasing the remote alp as you take your walk of freedom out of the prison. The blankets of cum and blood staining your jumpsuit are washed away by the rain, and you and the Walrider are never seen or heard from again.  



End file.
